


The Unforgivable

by sagesiren



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Cruciatus, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren
Summary: Steve’s expression shifted, but stayed unreadable to Peggy, and something deep in her ached at not knowing him as well as she used to. At least he was better at hiding his emotions now; he’d worn everything on his sleeve when she knew him ten years before.“I thought you were going to tell me that you would have done it better,” he joked, a hint of a smile creasing his face.“I wouldn’t have done it better. In half the time, maybe,” Peggy teased, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. “Hunting down death eaters while pretending to be dead? That would have been far more fun than sitting in a classroom and watching preteens accidentally disarm themselves.”(Or, the Harry Potter AU no one asked for)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure everyone has thoughts on which house each character belongs to, but for this story I'm going with Steve in Slytherin and Peggy in Gryffindor. It doesn't matter much to the actual plot, but it does get brought up once or twice.

**October**

“Professor?”

Peggy didn’t need to look up to know that it was one of her first year students from her morning class; she had her office charmed so as to never be caught unaware by a visitor. She dipped her quill in ink and continued marking up the essay she was working through. “Yes, Ms. Gray?”

At the sound of her name, the girl fiddled with her robes in one hand, holding her parchment in front of her like a shield in the other. “I spoke with Professor Rogers, as you had suggested, and he said to tell you to go easy on me.”

Peggy paused and looked up. “Is that so?” she asked, and watched as the first year swallowed and wordlessly held out the parchment. Peggy instantly recognized the elegant script at the top, next to the circled grade. Steve Rogers and his artist’s penmanship never failed to annoy her.

“Ms. Gray, you do realize that I was joking when I told you to bring your disputed grade to Professor Rogers to change for you, yes?” Peggy asked, her voice dry.

The first year blushed and shook her head. “I thought—”

“He’s the Transfiguration professor,” she said with a sigh. “He deals with making changes. He does not, however, have any control over your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.”

“Oh." The girl bit her lip. She looked terrified. This was why Peggy hated first years. 

She held her hands together on the desk, letting the girl stew for a moment before she spoke. “You were determined to change your grade and sought out not one, but two professors for help. That tenacity could be seen as admirable, if foolish. Five points to Slytherin.”

The first year brightened considerably. “Thank you, Professor!” she said and practically ran out of the room.

Once the girl had disappeared, Peggy stared at the parchment. His note at the top said exactly what the student had said. She tapped her thumb on her wand as she thought, before holding the end of her wand to the parchment, using a spell that Steve had created years ago to pass coded letters during the war.

The ink from the words of the essay slid out of place and rearranged into a message: _If you really wanted to talk to me, you could have stopped by my office yourself._

Peggy rolled her eyes. His cocky tone was just as obnoxious in writing as it was in person, even if he did have a point. The two had barely spoken past the letter he’d sent a few months before the start of term, in which he explained that he was still alive, and the terse conversation she’d had with him when she found out he was to be her colleague at Hogwarts. 

They were different people now than they were a decade ago, and trying to ignite their old flame, or any part of their working relationship was only going to get in the way of Peggy doing her job to the best of her ability.

And yet she couldn’t give up the opportunity to tease him. 

She pulled a piece of clean parchment from her drawer and scribbled a quick note to an Aunt that didn’t exist, something that would be assumed real if intercepted, and then wrote over it with her proper note to Steve. 

She held the tip of her wand to the parchment. “Steven Grant Rogers. _Clipeum,_ ” she breathed, and watched the second layer of ink get absorbed by the first until all that remained was the note to her dear old Aunt.

Satisfied with herself, Peggy walked to the window where her owl was already waiting, and summoned up a treat for him. She sat down at her desk to finish grading, smiling to herself. If Steve was anything like his old self he’d get a good laugh out of it, or his whole face would turn red. She would be happy with either, really.

_If you really wanted to flirt with me, you could have stopped by my office yourself._  


* * *

**November**

The castle at night was eerie with its long shadows and students scurrying around, ghosts floating through the hallways and having soft conversations without worrying about live ears overhearing.

This was part of the reason why Peggy loved it, reminding her of the forests they'd trekked through during the war, with less fearing for one's life.

She'd volunteered to take night shifts once it had started to get darker earlier. Students and professors alike thought they could get away with more during colder nights. It wasn’t a difficult job – walk the castle, look for threats, send students back to bed – and the potential rewards outweighed the few hours of sleep she'd sacrifice.

Peggy held the illuminated tip of her wand to the map of the castle. An older student had passed it down to her while she was in her fourth year, and she'd kept it with her ever since. There were a few pairs of feet wandering the halls. She kept her head down as she followed a specific set, so singularly focused that she didn’t notice the name attached to one of the other pairs until they’d come a hair’s breadth from walking into each other. 

“Peggy?” Steve asked, his whisper echoing in the hall as he took a step back.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see every nearby soul had scattered. “Professor Rogers,” Peggy said, the chill of her voice rivaling that of the stone walls. “I didn’t see you on the schedule for tonight.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, and she saw a flash of something in his eyes, the same thing she felt when she woke up in a cold sweat, having dreamt of too many green flashes, too many bodies laying in front of her.

Peggy's demeanor softened. "I see." She didn’t have anything else she could say to him, nothing that would make him feel any better. She’d been out of the field for longer than she’d been in it now. He'd left only months before, if his story was to be believed. 

In the light from his wand, his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Her fingers twitched with the urge to smooth it for him.

Steve shifted on his feet. “I uh, I actually have something for you? It’s back in my room. I’ve been trying to find a time to get it to you.”

“And now’s the right time?”

He shrugged. “No students around to see you coming into my office. You know how the rumor mill is in these halls.”

Peggy glanced furtively at the map, calculating how likely it was for her to catch anyone, now that they knew she was on the lookout. 

“It’s something you left with me,” Steve added. Peggy hesitated, but it piqued her interest enough that she nodded.

“I didn’t realize you were living on the grounds,” Peggy said, following Steve through the archway that appeared in his office when he waved his wand. It opened into a large room lit with warm light from floating candelabras, the green color scheme matching his house. There was a small, sparsely furnished living room, an even smaller kitchen, and two doors.

She’d lived on the grounds herself for a year after Fred had passed. It was a good way of regaining her footing when it didn’t feel right to live in a house that was haunted by his memory at every turn. When she was pulling a late night, grading OWLs or NEWTs, or having consoled a homesick student, she’d make the small flat appear for her again, grander now that she had been there for longer, with plush red carpets, a fireplace, and an armchair that rivaled the one in the Gryffindor common room that she’d favored as a student.

Steve shut the door, seeming self conscious about his place. It was similar to the Slytherin common room that she’d seen a few times before, but over the imposing dungeon walls it was decorated with paintings of swirling colors, flowers blowing in the breeze of an open window, people without faces sitting around a campfire.

She caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see what it was, but there was only an empty frame with a dark background, the subjects of the painting having just stepped out of frame. She shot a glance at Steve, who had a too-innocent look on his face. 

“I like being on campus. It’s good to be close to the students, in case they need something,” he said, an answer to a question she’d barely asked. Steve walked further into the flat, his tea kettle starting to boil as he passed it in the kitchen. He summoned a tea bag and a mug for her. “And I don’t want to set down roots anywhere.”

“You’ve been here since the start of term. I wouldn’t worry you’re putting down any roots just yet,” Peggy said dryly, walking to a painting of a forest that she recognized. The leaves on the trees shook menacingly. She could feel the chill of that same, familiar breeze pass through her.

Steve placed the mug of hot tea in her hands. She sensed the weight of his eyes on her as she watched a dark figure pass through the trees. They’d camped there once, before the both of them had been captured by Death Eaters from Voldemort’s inner circle. She had been tortured only a few days, and never again after that, but she’d read about Steve’s exploits in the paper, and knew he’d been held for months on end.

Even the memory of the Cruciatus Curse had the hair on the back of her neck rising.

She cleared her throat and took a sip. “You’ve been painting?”

He looked at the frame and nodded, a distant look in his eyes. “It got me through the last few years. I could only keep a few of my favorites.” Steve sucked in a breath. “Peggy, I—”

Peggy shook her head and held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear an apology,” she said, turning to look at him. “I know why you did what you did. I would have done the same thing.” 

Steve’s expression shifted, but stayed unreadable to Peggy, and something deep in her ached at not knowing him as well as she used to. At least he was better at hiding his emotions now; he’d worn everything on his sleeve when she knew him ten years before. 

“I thought you were going to tell me that you would have done it better,” he joked, a hint of a smile creasing his face.

“I wouldn’t have done it better. In half the time, maybe,” Peggy teased, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. “Hunting down Death Eaters while pretending to be dead? That would have been far more fun than sitting in a classroom and watching preteens accidentally disarm themselves.” 

Steve laughed lightly, heading back to the kitchen to get himself a drink. “I meant to ask you about that.”

“About what?" She sat down on his couch and crossed her legs.

“Why you chose to become a professor. I expected you to follow the Auror path with the rest of the team,” he said with a shrug. “Every time the Daily Prophet mentioned the Minister, I was hoping it'd be you.”

Peggy looked into her tea. “There was a lot to be done here. Students left without parents, the castle to rebuild. After that, there was a new generation that needed to be taught to protect themselves and our world.”

This time he gave her a curious look that she recognized. Peggy raised her eyebrows. “You think I made the wrong choice?”

“No,” Steve said. He settled on the far end of the couch. “I guess… I mean, I get why you came here. I was really wondering about what kept you here.”

“You want to know about my husband.”

He pursed his lips. “I want to know what kept you from pursuing the career you wanted back when I knew you.”

“If I knew this was going to be an interrogation, I would have brought my Veritaserum,” Peggy said, standing up and bringing her mug to his small kitchen. She rinsed it out. “And what about yourself? Finally free from a fake death sentence, and you come here to teach Transfiguration?” She shot him a look. “You could have gone anywhere, been an artist.”

“Where else would I go?” Steve asked, sounding older than she’d ever heard him. There was still something guarded about his expression, but the sadness there was genuine. “My parents are gone, Bucky’s…” He sucked his lips between his teeth. “He’ll be locked up for some time now. The Commandos are on their own assignments. Who else do I have?”

“James’ family?”

He caught her eye. “That’s not what I meant, Peggy.”

“You said you had something for me?” she reminded him, not wanting to start down that path now.

Steve didn’t move for a moment, watching her with a frown. “I do,” he said finally, getting up and pulling a box from under his bed. He cast a quick unlocking spell and it popped open. “Your notebook,” he said, handing over her field journal. 

Half of the pages were missing from the coded letters they’d sent, and what was left was waterlogged. She smoothed her hand over the worn leather. “I didn’t know you wound up with this."

“I also have this,” he said, tossing her a chocolate frog. Peggy caught it and looked it over. “What’s this for?”

“I owe you, remember? That game of poker where I wagered a chocolate frog more than I had.” 

The memory caught her off guard and she laughed. “I’d forgotten about that,” she said, holding the candy and the journal together and to her chest. “Well, thank you for these. I should really get back to…”

Steve shut the box. “Of course,” he said quickly, and waved to get the door open. 

“Your wand free magic’s better than it used to be,” she added as she walked toward the door. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing in her book. Wand free magic meant it was easier to hide what you were casting. She’d had enough practice with it to know. "Your poker face, too."

“Maybe I’ll win that frog back.” Steve smiled at her. If he’d caught her implication, he didn’t show it. “Goodnight, Peggy.”  


* * *

**February**

The post-holiday lull in the castle was worse this year than it had been before. Peggy assumed it was because there were fewer students now who were orphans, fewer who were glad for the return of a proper schedule and their house families. 

Peggy herself was feeling it. She’d lit extra candles in her office and classroom, and had left up her festive winter decorations of pine wreaths and sparkling snow, but couldn’t muster the energy to be enthusiastic about getting up every day to teach her classes. 

The work she did once the teaching was over and the papers were graded, however, was helping. Tracking everyone’s whereabouts in the castle, keeping her eye on the activities of professors—she’d been a spy long enough that being uninformed on things made her anxious, or that was how she’d explained it to Stark when he’d come to tell her about a new potion he’d brewed and caught her jotting down notes on the Arithmancy professor’s eating habits. 

One of the more problematic professors she kept an eye on was Steve. He’d go for a jog around the lake every morning, return for breakfast in the Great Hall, disappear for the time between his office hours and his class, and return looking drained. 

She hadn’t had the chance to follow him or put a tracker spell on him, but it was gnawing at her that she didn't know where he went.

Before she was able to do anything about it, she had to first get through the Hogsmeade visit she was chaperoning. Peggy made it to the courtyard, pulling her woolen robes tighter around her as the brisk winter wind tried to get to her skin. “You must be joking,” she muttered, stopping next to a Professor Rogers who was looking particularly perky that day.

“I was told I had a chaperone quota I had to fill, and figured I’d have more fun doing it with a friend.” He grinned at her, as if he thought he was cute. Cheeky arse. 

“Is that what we are now?” Peggy swirled her wand in a tight circle. A parchment with the list of students appeared in front of her. She waved her arm in the air to get the students to queue up, and started to mark them off as they came over.

“We used to be,” Steve said, pulling up a parchment of his own, half the names disappearing from hers and reappearing on his. 

Peggy very narrowly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The quicker they got through this, the quicker she could observe him from afar. “I’m well aware what we used to be.”

“Are you? Seems like you might have forgotten.”

She hardened her gaze at her paper, imagining it was Steve’s head. “This is hardly the right time to talk about that,” she bit out.

Steve gently nudged a third year Hufflepuff in the shoulder. “Do you think this is the right time to discuss Professor Carter’s love life?” he asked the girl. The third year looked amused until catching Peggy’s look, then ducked her head and hurried past with a mumbled, “No, Professor.”

Peggy did roll her eyes at that. “Leave the students alone. You’re scaring them.”

“I don’t think it’s me scaring them,” he said with a little chuckle. “Come on, Peg. I’ve barely seen you in months. Can we grab a butterbeer or something?”

She ignored him while she finished marking the students off, and turned to walk behind the trail of them, trudging through the snow. She cast a quick warming spell on her boots before tucking her wand away. “You can buy me a pint if it matters that much to you,” she decided. At the very least, she could use this as an excuse to find out what he knew about Barnes while he was ‘dead.’ And, if she was lucky, he’d realize she wasn't interested in picking up where they left off.

They went to a tavern on the edge of town that no students ever frequented, and got a table in the back.

He ordered for them both, which had Peggy frowning at him. “You still know my order?”

“It hasn’t changed, has it?” he asked, looking back at her with a little frown.

“No,” Peggy admitted, folding her hands on the table. “So?”

“So,” Steve said, nodding his thanks toward the bartender as their drinks floated over. "When did you know about Bucky?" 

It was only thanks to years of training and field work that she managed to not look as taken aback as she was at hearing the question she was planning on asking him. "Getting right to it, are we?" she asked evenly, taking a sip of the non-alcoholic drink. 

"I'd say I don't like to beat around the bush, but really I'm not sure when I'll get to talk to you again." He shrugged. "You've been avoiding me."

“When did _you_ know about Barnes?” Peggy countered, considering spiking her drink. She could convincingly play sober if a student needed her.

Steve sighed. “I heard he was in Azkaban about a year before I was able to return. I didn’t even know he was alive then.”

She watched the carefully blank look on his face and kept hers the same. She thought back to sitting in a bombed out bar with Steve, crying over the loss of his best friend. “That must have been difficult for you to hear,” she said coolly.

“Difficult. Yeah. That’s one word for it.” He took a sip of his drink and looked past her with a distant glaze over his eyes, before refocusing on her. “You must have known before then.”

“I had heard about his activities a few years into my work here,” Peggy agreed, rubbing her thumb through the condensation on the glass.

“And?”

“And, what?”

Steve shook his head. “I know you must have done something.”

“I contacted the Minister of Magic and vouched for Barnes’ character myself. That didn’t change Barnes' actions.” Peggy frowned, not sure how much she wanted to share. “I tried reaching out to James. We corresponded for some time. He truly believed in what he was doing.” 

“That’s not possible.”

Peggy lowered her voice and leaned forward. “He’d been held for nearly two years before anyone saw him committing any crimes. We don’t know how many hands subjected him to Cruciatus Curses in that period, and you know as well as I do that some Wizards lose a part of themselves after that sort of treatment. It could have been enough to make him… see things differently.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and it almost made her sigh in relief. Any show of his emotions was starting to make her feel like the Steve she used to know was still there. “Do you have the letters you wrote to him?” he asked.

Peggy shook her head. "I got rid of them."

"You got rid of them?" He rubbed the side of his face. “Why?”

“They didn’t seem important.” That, and she was worried they’d be incriminating to either Barnes or herself.

Steve sat back in his chair, his face switching between badly restrained anger, and something resembling exhaustion. “Why are you avoiding me, Peggy?” he asked, watching her more intently than she liked.

She took a sip of her drink, running her tongue over her teeth as she thought. “My job is my only priority at the moment,” she said, completely honest with him for the first time. “You missed ten years, Steve. I’m not the same person I was.”

His eyes bore into her, and she sat up straighter to make up for feeling like she was shrinking under his gaze.

“No, you’re not,” he said simply. He stood, pulling out a few coins and leaving them on the table. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Snow blew into the tavern as he left, melting almost immediately as it came into contact with the fireplace-warmed air. Peggy didn’t bother finishing her drink, leaving instead for the town’s library so she could get some work down while she waited for the student excursion to be over.

She certainly did not let Steve occupy her thoughts for the remainder of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking it'll be around three chapters total. I don't have any plan for an update schedule at the moment, but have a fair amount written already and know where this is going, so hopefully not too long of a wait!
> 
> I'm sagesiren on tumblr if you want to chat :)


	2. Chapter 2

**March**

Peggy dutifully picked through the root vegetable pot pie in front of her while listening to the Divination professor. She wasn't particularly a fan of either – professor or meal – but every now and then the woman would have something to say that wasn't nonsense, and if the last few years were any indication, there was an especially rich spread of desserts in celebration of spring waiting for her at the other end of the healthy part of the meal.

She nodded and hummed in all the appropriate places as the seer plucked Peggy's teacup off of the table, but was more focused on the tired owl making its way into the Great Hall. It was late for mail to come.

"...will try to kill you," Sybill said. Peggy narrowed her eyes as the owl came over to the staff table, hopping around and leaving talon prints in a bowl of mashed potatoes. 

It stopped on her right, knocking over McGonagall’s goblet, and dropped a letter next to Peggy’s plate.

"Were you even listening, dear?" 

Peggy frowned at the letter. It was from a codename she recognized from the war, one only Steve had used when writing her. "What's that?" she asked, tucking the envelope into her robes. No reason to open it in front of anyone else. 

She’d had a few more brief run-ins with Steve since the tavern in Hogsmeade, but luckily none that left her with the impression that Steve was paying her much attention. Somehow that made her even more annoyed to receive the letter from him, as if it was her own fault for not expecting it.

"Your old friend. You should be concerned," Sybill said, staring deep into the teacup before she readjusted her glasses. "Where were we?"

Peggy almost laughed at the warning. Of course she was concerned. "You were telling me how you predicted the weather each day," she said drolly, reaching for her water that she'd transfigured into wine a few topics earlier in the conversation. 

As soon as the plates were swept away and Peggy had two helpings of the spring berry pie she loved, she was on her feet, careful to keep the letter from falling out of the pocket in her robe. 

She waved her wand to make her old quarters appear in her office for an extra layer of separation from the rest of the castle. She’d been doing most of her investigations there, her papers and observations hidden inside a concealed pipe in the kitchen. The fire jumped to life, instantly warming the room. 

With all the time she was spending there, her actual home outside London was likely starting to gather dust. 

Peggy hung her robes and sat in the armchair, then tore into the letter. She scanned it to see if there was any obvious code or cipher—it wasn’t the kind of protection Steve would think they needed at Hogwarts, but it didn't hurt to check.

" _Clipeum,_ " she breathed, her wand tipped to the center of the parchment. The many paragraphs of nonsense rearranged into a few words, large and in the center of the page.

_Can we talk?_

She leaned back in her chair. That was it? She had been ready to contact the Ministry about an emergency, and he wanted to _talk_.

Before she was able to summon parchment for a reply, there was a knock at the door. She shielded the letter again with the same spell, and walked through the flat’s entryway to the door in her office, wand in hand. Steve’s eager face awaited her on the other side. “Did you follow me from the Great Hall?” she asked, unimpressed.

He gave her a small smile in return. “I figured I’d catch you before you left for the night. Did you just get the letter today?”

She positioned herself in the doorway, making it impossible for him to come inside. “It came with dinner.”

Steve frowned. “I sent it a few days ago.”

Peggy crossed her arms. “If that’s all you’re here to discuss, I’d rather you go be disappointed about your owl elsewhere. It’s getting late.”

“Wait,” he started, and sighed. “I wanted to talk. I feel like we left things on a bad note in the tavern.”

“You were the one that was disappointed in what I had to say,” she pointed out.

“Can I at least come in?”

Peggy searched his face before taking a step back, motioning for him to enter.

He took a look around, lingering by the archway to her quarters. “Should we go have tea?” he asked, pointing back through the doorway with his thumb. “Your couch looks more comfortable than mine does.”

Peggy swished her wand in a quick, concise movement by her hip. The archway disappeared. She wasn’t a fan of nosiness from anyone, let alone someone that came back from the dead and, for what it looked like, had taken up a teaching post just to spy on her. “I’m all full up, but thank you for the offer,” she replied, her voice dry.

“Alright, then.” Steve sat instead on the edge of her desk, rubbing his thighs absently while he spoke. “I keep thinking about something you said, before Hogsmeade.” He looked up at her.

She stayed standing, waiting for him to continue. 

He let out a breath. “You asked if we were friends. Maybe we’re not anymore, but I would like to be. I want to get to know you again. This you. Professor Carter.”

Peggy’s skepticism almost melted away by the seemingly genuine warmth in his eyes. “What does getting to know me entail?”

“Talking? Catching up?” He shrugged. “The kind of stuff that used to be easy for us.”

She debated for a moment before she walked to her desk and unlocked one of her drawers, pulling out a flask. Peggy summoned two glasses and poured a few fingers for each of them, knowing that she'd need it to get through this. "Where should we start?"

Steve seemed to relax. “I’d love to hear more about what your life was like after the war?”

She nodded, floating his glass toward him and taking a fortifying sip. “I bounced around the world before I wound up here at the castle. There was so much to do.” She tapped a finger on her glass, images of rubble flashing through her mind. As disconcerting as it had been to see chunks of the castle broken on the ground, there was always something worse waiting underneath. “You’ve seen pictures of the damage that was done?”

He nodded, taking a sip of the scotch. “Yeah. The fighting nearly destroyed it.”

Peggy sat on the threadbare couch she kept in her office for visiting students. “My husband, Fred, lived in the village but came to the grounds every day to help with the cleaning efforts. The town was occupied nearly the entire time he was of age, so he had no way to get out and fight in the war, only suffer from Voldemort’s strict hand over Hogsmeade.” She swirled the liquid in her glass. “His parents had protected him from the worst of it. He seemed so normal compared to everyone else I'd worked with in the war _._ ” 

She cut herself off when she realized she’d been going on for a while. “You did want to know about my husband, didn’t you?”

Steve was leaning forward from his place on the desk, forehead creased as he listened. “What happened to him?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“A stray Killing Curse. A Death Eater who had flown under the radar saw him coming out of our house at night and thought he was me,” she said with a humorless laugh. “It was my fault. I had convinced him to move in with me as soon as we were engaged.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, joining her on the sofa. “I can’t imagine how horrible that was.”

“Yes, well. We’ve all seen our fair share of terror. You more than most.” Peggy took another sip, watching him questioningly. “I can’t imagine what ten years of hiding was like.”

Steve looked away. “Yeah, it was… it was difficult.” He looked into his glass. “The hardest part was not reaching out to you.”

“I would have thought getting tortured was worse,” she said dryly.

He shook his head. “I’m serious. I kept thinking about what would happen if I was killed. Either you’d never find out the good I did, or you’d hear and resent me for hiding from you, doing the work without you.”

She frowned. “You could have reached out. We had ways of communicating.” 

“Not ways that no one else knew.”

“You didn’t trust the aurors?”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know who to trust.”

She took a sip of the whiskey to hide how much that stung, even if she didn’t trust him as far as she could levitate him now. “I wouldn’t have resented you. I don’t resent you for that now.”

Steve shrugged like he didn’t believe her but wasn’t about to argue. He held up the glass and looked at the amber liquid in it. “The last time I drank whiskey this good was that winter when we found a barn to camp out in.”

Peggy grinned. “The bottle Dugan stole from one of the muggle households nearby?” she took a sip. “This isn’t nearly as good. It’s not the same brand. I’ve visited a few of the muggle stores and none seem to have it.”

“I’ll have to take a look,” he said, resting the glass on his knee. “You remember Jones and Dernier tried to act out that Christmas story?”

“A Christmas Carol,” Peggy supplied, laughing. “Bucky tried to jump in as one of the characters.”

“He had that whole bottle of wine to himself. Couldn’t even get the words out.” 

“But he did manage to accidentally set fire to a bale of hay.”

“He’d always had tendencies toward pyro-magic,” Steve laughed.

Peggy focused on the way his hand circled his glass, his thumb rubbing swirls against it as she smiled. It was easy to focus on those moments instead of what was outside of the barn—what was under the castle stones. “We had a good time despite the horror of it all, didn’t we?”

“We did. I’ve really missed you,” Steve said, his laughter dying down. He finished his glass and sent it over to the desk, catching her gaze.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted. She felt softened this late in the night, staring into his eyes like no time had passed between their last cold night pressed against each other to share heat and now, their thighs pressed together, her thoughts coming loose.

The whiskey had been a bad idea.

He leaned forward, angling himself in a way she recognized, and she turned her head away. “It’s late, Steve,” she said. Her voice came out far quieter than she’d meant. 

Humiliation and anguish crossed his face in equal measures, and then all the emotion was gone again, taking with it any tenderness she was feeling toward him. “Yeah. You’re right." Steve nodded and stood. “But, uh. Thanks for the whiskey. It was good to catch up.”

He held his hand out and she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. His hand was warm, making the rest of her body feel a few degrees too cold. She let go once her feet were steady under her. “It was,” she agreed. “I should get back to grading. See you at breakfast.”

Steve gave her one last smile before he left her office, leaving her even more confused than she’d been before.

* * *

It was a few days later when Peggy was in the middle of teaching her fifth year class, and felt her pocket grow warm. She reached her hand in, not letting herself miss a beat in her lecture to feel the Knut she’d enchanted to alert her to a breach in her office’s security system. The coin was hot on her palm. Unfortunately the map of the castle was somewhere in her quarters, and she wouldn’t have a chance to check it and find out who had broken in even if she’d had it on her person. 

She squeezed the Knut, glancing at the clock. Ten more minutes of teaching until she could leave without making it seem like something was wrong. 

By the end of class she didn't remember what she'd said about Patronuses to her students, sure that not all of it had been accurate – there was a Ravenclaw looking especially confused; Peggy decided to borrow Minerva's Pensieve later to sift through her memory and determine the damage – and rushed out before the students had put down their quills.

She'd never tested the security measures, and wasn't entirely sure they'd work. Part of Peggy was expecting to get to her office to find no trace of the intruder. Her pulse was racing, her fist on her wand, ready at her side as she slipped inside.

Waiting for her was Steve, frozen in place, mid-step by her desk, with a bottle of muggle whiskey in his hand. Peggy narrowed her eyes, coiling her wand in a tight circle to unfreeze his head. "What the hell are you doing breaking into my office?" she snapped.

"I got you a gift," he said tightly. It was clearly an effort to speak, which had Peggy satisfied with herself. The hex was working well. He pointedly moved his eyes down to his hand, hovering in the air with the bottle.

"And you couldn't wait until I was here?"

"It was meant to be a surprise," he gasped out, his breath coming shorter. 

Peggy watched as his eyes went wider, the hex growing tighter and tighter on his body, and she flicked her wand to reverse it. He sagged, the bottle tumbling to the floor. She cast a quick cushion charm, letting it land softly. “Next time the punishment for breaking in won’t be as pleasant.”

Steve gripped her desk, leaning over and gasping. “Is that a promise?” he grit out. 

“A threat,” she said, eyes narrowing again. “Don’t underestimate me.” 

He looked up at her, his eyes dark. “I think I’m the only one who knows what you’re capable of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with a scowl, taking a step closer. Her adrenaline hadn’t faded from thinking she’d caught someone else, and he was standing up to his full height, his chest moving quickly as he got his breath back. 

“It means I’m not afraid of you.”

“Is that so?” Peggy squared her shoulders, her wand pointing at his chest as she looked up at him. She was closer than she’d meant to have gotten, though, and she could smell his cologne, see the desire flicking in his eyes.

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah. It is,” he breathed, moving swiftly to grab her hip and her head to pull her into a kiss. She raised her wand to stop whatever attack might be coming before she’d processed what was happening, and instead found herself kissing him back with just as much fervor. 

He lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the desk, and she wrapped her leg around one of his, warm under his robes. “Steve,” she breathed, caught up in how much this felt like old times, how she felt just as desperate and close to danger now as she did those nights in a shared tent. 

“Please,” he gasped, forehead resting against hers. She didn’t know what he was pleading for, but answered him with another kiss. She gripped the front of his sweater with one hand. “We should—your room," Steve breathed, "not here where students—”

Reality came crashing back to her, how he’d kept trying to see her quarters, and she pushed him back. “I’ll meet you in yours. Twenty minutes,” she said, her words clipped. She stood and wiped at her mouth, doing a little wandless magic to get her makeup back in order. 

He looked like he might protest, but nodded. “Twenty minutes?” he repeated, and took a step toward the door. “After that, I might lock my door."

“Let’s hope I’m not late,” she replied, putting her wand back into her robes.

She got the whiskey from the floor once he was gone and cast a disenchantment spell on it to show her any poison he might have put in there, before taking a long swig from the bottle. Christ, it was good.

This was a terrible idea. It was absolutely ludicrous that she was even considering it.

Then again, it would give her a chance to get under his skin and gain his trust. Which, of course, was the only reason she was thinking so seriously about it, or so she told herself for the entire walk to his office. 

The door was unlocked so she let herself in, the archway to Steve’s living room open and waiting. He was just inside, hanging his robes. “That didn’t take long,” he said.

“Shut it,” Peggy said, locking the door and striding up to him, pulling him down and into a hard kiss.

* * *

There was a warm light coming in through the window when she woke, and it took her a few minutes to orient herself; she was tangled in sheets that were very much not her own, Steve lightly snoring next to her. The light she was bathed in shone from a painting of a sunrise, but judging by her internal clock it was just before dawn outside.

She slipped out of bed wrapped in the top sheet that Steve had kicked off at some point in the night, and tiptoed out into the living room, not wanting to give up the opportunity to look around without him present. There was a couch, a small wooden coffee table where mismatched mugs had been left abandoned, and a desk, flush against the wall. 

Peggy decided that was her best bet and summoned some muting magic to her hands, not wanting to risk the time it would take to find her wand in her robe. She rummaged through a drawer, pulling out drawing supplies, enchanted paint brushes that were worn from his grip. 

Under that were pages and clippings from assorted newspapers, none in order, and as Peggy reached further back she realized the drawer had been magically extended. She pulled it out further, various piles looking intentionally placed. She chose a pile at random and one thin sheet from the top, scanning it for any specific bit of information. It was in rough shape, some edges burned, holes singed through unimportant stories, pinpricks gone from what was probably stray ash.

She picked up another few, finding them in the same state. She left them out as she closed the drawer, freezing as she heard the bed creaking in the bedroom. 

Peggy folded them together, pressing them smaller until they fit in her hand clutching the sheet around her. She took some hurried steps away from the desk and turned to find something she could pretend to be examining, and came face to face with a sketch of two dancing figures, twirling around a room.

There was a hint of red smudged on the man’s cheeks. The woman’s lips were a matching shade, her hair in unmistakable waves. He tried to dip her and she laughed, head tilting back. The figures spun and spun and spun.

“I don’t know why I didn’t want you to see that one the first time you were here,” Steve said, his voice sheepish, though whether that was for his attempt at sneaking up on her or his embarrassment at the sketch, she wasn’t sure. 

“I don’t know why, either. It’s beautiful,” Peggy said, more affected than she’d meant to be, absolutely entranced as she watched the sketch of herself dancing, laughing, spinning in his arms. She blinked a few times, her throat feeling thick with unshed tears. Her likeness was happy and carefree, something she’d never be with him, something she couldn't remember ever feeling at all. “You’re so talented, Steve.”

He rested a hand on her hip, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Were you trying to sneak off?”

Peggy closed her eyes as his mouth moved up her neck. “The thought hadn’t even occurred to me."

“Liar,” Steve accused, his hand finding its way around to her stomach, parting the sheet and slipping between her thighs.

_You have no idea,_ she thought, arching back against him. “I need to get home before breakfast,” she said, the pitch of her voice climbing.

He hummed, kissing just under her jaw. “Mmhm.”

Peggy forced herself to pull away, shooting a look over her shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, Rogers,” she said, bundling her clothes and robes into her arm, careful to keep the newspaper pages hidden in her hand as she stalked off toward the bathroom.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Carter,” he called back, his voice rounded with a soft laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time, but now I'm thinking it will be a little longer than I originally planned anyway!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, life got in the way a little bit with a new job, but I hope you enjoy!

**May**

Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Peggy whipped her head to look, the dark shape huddled behind a tree. She pulled out her wand as she followed, the tip's glow making the trees look taller, more menacing.

"Steve?" she asked, the hulking shadow of a figure transforming into a recognizable shoulder span, the flash of blond hair.

"It’s not me," he said, but his voice was wrong, an English accent like her own, someone else’s voice from his lips.

She reached for him and her wand went dark, but she felt the ground shake as he started to run from her, and she followed, branches and brush scratching her face.

"Peggy?" he called, but that wasn't right, he was ahead of her, he wasn't turned back. Part of her wondered why she didn't cast another light spell, why she was running after him instead of summoning her broom or apparating in front of him, but the answers didn't matter as much as her feet - she realized she was barefoot now - sinking into the mud, deeper and deeper with each step.

"Peggy, you're dreaming," he said, and she knew that, knew it must be a dream because her Steve had died, and when they'd found his body it was burned beyond recognition. But she had recognized him. The shape of his jaw. The hair. The outfit he was wearing, the foolishly overt resistance symbol emblazoned over the pocket of his muggle shirt.

Steve stopped, toppled over. She ran to him. Dropped to her knees by his side. How could she lose him again? How could she have let herself lose him the first time? "Steve," she gasped, getting her hands under him to help him sit. 

"I'm here," he said, but his lips didn't move, his whole body instead dissolving into ash, falling between her fingers. She wiped at where his face had been moments before, trying to clear it away, but what she found below was a different face pushing up from the dirt, gaunt, drained: Bucky, gasping in air like he hadn't taken a breath in years. 

"Peggy," he said, his eyes wide and clear, a shift from the dream’s tone as he looked at her. "It's me—"

She sat upright with a gasp, pushing away Steve's hand that had been brushing sweat matted hair back from her forehead. 

"You were having a nightmare," he said calmly, his voice softer than she’d heard it in over a decade. She was panting still, feeling like she'd run for hours, and reached for her wand to try to calm herself. "Want me to—"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, focusing on how it was familiar in her hand and calmed her, reminded her she was in control. She could protect herself like this. She slid her thumb over a dent that the wand had gotten after a stunning spell threw her back and made her lose her grip on it. It was years ago, before she was at Hogwarts, before they’d found Steve’s body and she’d made the choices that landed her here. Her heart was still beating too quickly as a lump formed in her throat.

"What's your favorite color?" Steve asked, and the question was jarring enough that she turned her head to look at him. 

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm serious, what's your favorite color?"

Peggy swallowed heavily. "Red."

"How Gryffindor of you," he teased with a smile.

She took in a slow breath. "It would have been worse if I had said ruby and gold." 

Steve chuckled. "And what's your favorite food?" 

"Mince pies," Peggy replied after a moment of thought. She shifted, setting her wand aside: within easy reach without being a threat to Steve, even if he was more of a threat to her at the moment. 

“Favorite season?”

“Spring.”

“That makes sense,” Steve said with a nod. “You liked when the roses bloomed at your parents house, right? I remember you telling me that when I asked about your perfume once.”

She twisted the sheets in her hand, almost wishing he didn’t remember that. It was only going to make it harder for her when she uncovered the truth about him. Who else knew that, now? Who had he told? Who had read it from his head? "What was that all about?"

"It's a trick I learned from a muggle I travelled with for a few months," Steve said, settling his hands in his lap, the sheets half covering his waist. "Pulls you out of your thoughts." 

"It helped," Peggy said with a nod, settling back on the bed. He lay on his side, curved toward her like he wanted to touch her. She appreciated his hesitation. A good instinct, despite whatever was holding him back. Whoever was holding him back.

She was still monitoring Voldemort’s following within the castle, and had narrowed her investigations to two professors: Howard who despite his assistance during the war had understandably been under watch ever since his potions had been found in the hands of death eaters, and he had been making an effort to keep her out of his head with his occlumency prowess. But Arnim, who had shown himself to either be a double agent for the resistance or a coward who switched sides when he saw the way things were going, and who wound up being crucial to their success, was known to be especially talented at the Imperius Curse. If Steve hadn’t been turned - by the torture, or perhaps by Barnes back before he’d disappeared - then, with how closely Steve was acting to his former self, there would have needed to be an expert to control him. 

Barnes had always been the closest with Steve, though, and every day after returning from his post-run outing, Steve looked as if he’d had an encounter with dementors.

Other than the new Imperius counter curse the Aurors had come up with, and spiking something of his with veritaserum (two unfortunately obvious methods), she wouldn’t be able to tell. 

It was all too familiar. She’d been at Barnes’ trial, had seen the difference in him, the wild shifting of his eyes, the long and tangled hair when he’d used to take such care of his appearance. The veritaserum had proved he was guilty, had him admit to the murders, the work for the Dark Lord he’d done as a double agent. That had been the first time she’d seen the face of someone she’d worked with during the war since she started her work as a professor, and a part of her at the time was glad she wasn’t one of the Aurors that had found him and realized who he was. As much as she missed that sort of fieldwork, the duels, the adrenaline, she might have quit her job on the spot.

Peggy took the initiative and leaned in, wanting the closeness to Steve even if it wasn't fully him. He wrapped an arm around her and she closed her eyes against his chest. "You must have had your share of nightmares," she asked, prodding for something from him. He didn't reply, but she heard the stagger in his breath. Maybe another part of him clawing to come out.

His hand curled over her hip. She'd been letting her guard down with him too often and it was starting to become a habit that would be hard to break. Peggy relaxed a little more regardless.

"I don't get too many anymore," he said, something in his voice hesitant. She imagined him reaching out to her, trying to tell her without using his words that he wasn't himself, that he was being controlled by Bucky or someone else. She shifted, and Steve's hand tightened for a moment before letting go with clear reluctance. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I ought to get ready for the day." Peggy didn’t bother to keep the blanket from falling away as she got up, hoping for his eyes to follow her body. She didn’t want to end the morning with him seeing her handling the fallout of a nightmare. She didn’t want to end the morning with him having all the power.

He got up as well, stretching with his back turned to her, either out of disinterest or respect, she wasn’t sure. “I should, too. I’ve got my earlier class today,” he said, and from the sound of his voice she could tell he was making a face. “You don’t have any classes, do you?”

“You’ve memorized my schedule?” she asked, putting a hint of teasing in her voice.

“I bet you memorized mine before the students got here,” Steve said with a little laugh, and Peggy hummed as she pulled on her clothes. He wasn’t wrong. 

In fact, the Headmistress had given her all of the professors’ schedules, as she’d been doing since Peggy’s first day. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” Peggy asked, not responding further and sliding her wand away. 

“Lunch,” he agreed, pulling on a pair of jeans and turning to give her a kiss.

Although she didn’t have any classes, she did had office hours and stacks of parchments to read from her seventh years, and the feedback would help them with the NEWTs that were fast approaching. 

After only an hour of grading, though, she found her thoughts straying toward the newspaper articles she’d pilfered from Steve’s desk. Peggy only made it through another two essays before making her flat appear, sealing the doorway behind her so it wouldn’t appear that she was in her office at all if anyone came looking for her.

She poured water into a mug and boiled it with a flick of her wand, steeping tea so she could pull out the scraps of newspapers and read through them again:

_...found a the home of prolific uthor of_ Witche Who Mad Histo y _among other pop lar books. It has not yet been explained by the inistry why she had twelve time turners, as citizens are rarely allowed to be in oss ssion of one. With this discovery comes the speculation that behind the success of all of arsin’s book as the ab li y to at time. This oes not bode well for G rsin’s hree consecu ive Gold Quill Awa d w ns, which m y be retroactive y given to other writers who had been…_

_… f D in w lcomed triplets on S turday afternoon. The infants, two irls and a boy, w re the first bor to a wi ch older than ifty with the help f fe tility spell_ irilisila _, th ugh doctors urge those who may try it for themse ves to be aware of potential si effects. ‘This is a new spell, and it ay have c nsequences we’ve yet to discove ,’ says..._

_...r se in uggle olitical t nsions, and some of this fea s being mirr re in our own institutions. While there is buzz around new candidates for inister, Shackl bolt is likely to be…_

_...port ey m shap. It is be ieved to be an honest mistake, but the fami y is still ress ng charges. ‘Someone needs to be held accountable,’ rederickso said in his stat ment to the Prophet. ‘Improper use of any magi al d vice put all of us at risk.’ Th Wizengamot is looking into the..._

She read them each a half dozen times, finding no new pattern to the articles’ topics, their authors, where the pages had been torn. The holes and singed edges didn’t help, either, and she tried reading through them again with a charm to fill in what was burned away. She was annoyed that she hadn’t been more careful with how many she took, or from where she grabbed them from, as the order might have been the clue, the first and last words forming sentences, pershaps? She flicked some words into the air with her wand, but that was still gibberish. 

Peggy had one last idea, but it seemed too obvious. She tapped her wand to the newspaper clippings. “ _Clipeum,_ ” she breathed, and held her breath while she waited for something new to appear.

Nothing did.

She put them down on the table with a sigh, and went back to distractedly grade papers with her over-steeped, lukewarm tea as punishment for the time wasted.

* * *

**June**

Peggy spent less and less time with Steve as the school year came to a close, both of them needing to focus more on their respective jobs. She still found an excuse to show up at his office before he went to bed, and he’d stop by when he knew she was around, but as her students began to stress about their end of term exams, Peggy couldn’t help but feel she was watching grains of sand counting down precious seconds she had until a disaster.

Stark wasn’t acting any more suspicious than usual, but Zola and Steve had begun spending more time together, if her enchanted map was to be believed. If Steve hadn’t switched to the dark side during the war, then he was certainly under the control of the Imperius curse. There was no other reason to have an interest in the Arithmancy professor, unless Steve had suddenly taken an interest in his class.

Peggy was mulling this over at dinner the night before the NEWT exams, a few days after she’d started tracking Steve and Zola’s time together, and was between bites of pot roast when a small owl flew hastily toward the tallest seat at the staff table, and dropped a letter into the Headmistress’s lap. Minerva tore open the letter, stood with a clatter of her chair scraping the stone floor, walked over from her spot at the head of the table.

“Professor Carter. A word?”

Peggy had been watching this unfold and nodded, wiped her mouth, and followed, preparing herself for the bad news. She had turned her head toward Steve a few times during the meal, and he’d been avoiding eye contact, but as she glanced back at him, he caught her gaze. She could see something dark under his careful, carefree facade.

“Did you know?” Minerva asked once they were securely in her office.

Peggy frowned, sure there were a few more wrinkles on the Headmistress’s face than the last time they’d had a private chat. “Know what?” 

McGonagall sat on the edge of her desk. “James Barnes has escaped.”

“From Azkaban?” Peggy blanched. “Christ. How?”

“He had help.” Minerva crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze on Peggy. “Do I have anything to be concerned about, Ms. Carter?”

“I wasn’t the one who helped him,” she said firmly, a few pieces clicking together in her head. The daily prophet was one of the only things given to prisoners in their cells. It wasn’t easy to smuggle things out, but it wasn’t impossible, and for someone who really wanted to communicate plans with an ally on the outside, and who had always excelled at pyro-magic…

Peggy ran through every swear she knew in her head.

When asking the next question, the Headmistress sounded skeptical. “If you knew who was responsible, you’d tell me?”

Peggy squared her shoulders. “I don’t have any accusations to make just yet, but I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.”

“As always, keep me updated,” Minerva replied, standing and moving to sit behind her desk. “I’ll let you know if I receive more news from the Ministry.”

Peggy was out the door with a nod of acknowledgement, and strode toward her own office, opening the arch to her flat and pulling out the newspapers that she’d left lying out for the last few weeks, not bothering to put them away when she tried to take a look at them each night.

It was a painfully obvious code, one she should have realized sooner. One she would never have expected Bucky to use for fear of it being found out; he had always been good at concealing messages well. And yet.

A wave of her wand made the four articles float into the air in front of her, and with a flick to the side to adjust the charm that had closed the holes and completed the words to make the filled in letters float beneath the articles in question:

_-aserum peg switched at trial_

_-ouble agent for voldemor-_

_imperiod me_

_kill p if necesse-_

Peggy’s heart sped. At least she was right about the fact that there was an order to them, as she clearly had grabbed articles from piles that were coherent sentences when with others. 

If this was how Barnes and Steve had been communicating, she needed to see what else Barnes had told him. 

She grabbed her wand, sealed her office, and went to his, opening the door without knocking and casting a few dozen spells until she managed to get the archway to Steve’s flat to open. 

The last thing she expected was to find him there, looking up at her from his desk in alarm when she stepped inside. The only way he could have made it there already was if he’d come as soon as he saw her leave with McGonagall, which was as incriminating as anything else.

“What did you do?” Peggy demanded, whipping out her wand and pointing it at him. 

He held his hands up in front of him, palms to her, eyes hard. “I know everything,” he said calmly.

She scowled. “You don’t know anything. _Suirepmi,_ ” she breathed, focusing all of her magic and waving the wand at him. He frowned, out of the game too long to recognize the identifying spell that Aurors had come up with for one of the three Unforgivable curses the summer before. A long ribbon of yellow light slowly inched out from her wand until it was wrapping around his chest, in stark contrast to his black and green robes. It tightened, glowed white, and the ribbon fell toward the ground while it dissolved into the air. That settled it, then. Turned dark, instead of under the control of Zola. 

“What did you do to me?” he asked, concern in his voice as he started to reach for something. 

She sent a quick zap to his hand. “Don’t even think about it. Where’s Barnes?”

“ _Ow,_ ” Steve muttered, bringing his hands in front of him again. “I don’t know. I just found out myself before dinner.”

“Is he here?” she asked, looking around the room.

“I didn’t break him out,” Steve said, his forehead creasing with a frown. 

Peggy cast her patronus out to check the flat for other people, not ready to take his word for it. “But you’ve been communicating with him.”

The stag came back to her and disappeared into her wand, but she didn’t lower it. Steve put his hands down, but didn’t make any other movements. “I went to talk to him, to see if what everyone said about him was true.”

“And?” 

“And he wasn’t himself. You were right. He couldn’t even get words out, but could communicate in other ways.” Steve watched her carefully.

“I know all about the newspapers.” Peggy grimaced. “He is himself. Whatever he’s told you, he’s making excuses for what he did, trying to blame it on me.”

His expression deepened, turned to sadness, and she made the mistake of thinking she had the upper hand and might be able to convince him of the truth, turn him against Zola, when Steve flicked his fingers.

The wandless disarming spell he cast only flung her wand a meter away. She dove after it as soon as she’d realized but wasn’t fast enough, and was too out of practice for a duel in close quarters. Before she’d landed on the ground Steve had his wand out of his robes and a stun curse on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out I was lying when I said this was going to be three chapters. It'll probably be five or six at this point, because I don't think I can wrap it up in just one more after this. Hopefully it won't take me another six months to write the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note that I updated the tags/warnings for this chapter!

She hit the wooden floor with a thud, arm extended, frozen fingers stretching toward her wand that was just out of reach.

He squatted next to her, turning her onto her back so she was forced to look up at him. “I think it’s time we’re honest with each other, Peg,” he said. His voice was angry. Dark. 

Peggy lay there, breathing heavily, summoning her energy for a counter curse as Steve cast ropes around her. They were dark green and thick, and she recognized them as the snare ropes they’d created together to hold death eaters. 

He broke the spell on her, and she sagged before she could help it, the snares tightening around her. “Are you working for him?” Peggy asked once she had a hold of herself again, forcing herself to stay calm from her place on the floor, moving only her eyes, keeping her breathing as slow as possible to lessen the pressure from the snare.

Steve summoned a chair from his small kitchen table and placed it opposite her. “You said you have Veritaserum?” he asked her. 

Peggy didn’t reply. Steve twitched his wand and the snares tightened. When she didn’t answer again, he turned toward her kitchen. “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything stupid, Peggy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She focused, trying to get a hold of herself. She’d been in worse places than this, and all it would take to get out of this one was channeling a bright enough light from her hands, but channeling magic through them was harder when they were pressed uncomfortably against her sides. She only managed to get a small, useless spark from her fingertips by the time Steve returned with the vial.

“I want to make this as easy on us both as possible,” he said, kneeling and reaching to pinch her nose. She turned her head away, the vines constricting around her, and he huffed in frustration. “We wouldn’t even have to do this if you could just tell me who you’re working for.”

Peggy ground her teeth together, mouth firmly shut, trying to summon her wand to her hand. 

It started to work, the wand fluttering on the floor as she tried to call it to herself, but before it made it Steve used his wand to get her upright, feet hovering above the ground, her eyes level to his. Peggy’s chest tightened as she looked at him. Part of her had still hoped, but he wasn't the good man he used to be. She wondered what had turned him. The torture? Losing Bucky? Had he struck some sort of bargain in return for his life?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Peggy said, her voice strained with the tightness of the ropes. 

Steve crossed his arm, wand in his hand. “No? How about you tell me when you put Bucky under the Imperius curse? Was that before you started telling the Death Eaters our location, or after?”

Peggy jerked in surprise. “ _What_?” she gasped out. “You think I’m a—”

There was a grinding sound that had Peggy and Steve both twisting toward the door, her breath coming in short bursts now. 

The door pushed in, the lock broken in without any care for finesse, and revealed Bucky, standing there in a tattered prisoner’s uniform, hair hanging loose around him. 

“Buck?” Steve asked, face falling to confusion. “How’d you get in here? I thought we were meeting—”

“The castle wards were easy to get around,” he interrupted, closing the door and coming closer. “Give me your wand.”

Steve’s finger twitched, like he was considering it for a moment. “Let’s call the Ministry, get this figured out. We have her secured.”

Bucky shook his head, looking past Steve and right at Peggy with the sort of expression one might regard a bug they’d accidentally stepped on. “There’s no time. We need to kill her.”

“Steve, whatever he’s told you,” she started, feeling a slight crack in her ribs from the pressure. 

“Hold on,” Steve said, putting a hand on Bucky’s chest when it seemed like he was starting toward where Peggy was hovering. 

Bucky shoved Steve out of the way, going to grab Peggy’s wand. He held it up to Peggy, inches from her neck. “ _Avada—”_

“ _Impedimenta,_ ” Steve snapped, all of his magic going into the jinx, dropping her to the ground when his levitation spell faded. She huffed, all the air going out of her as the devil’s snare pressed into her. At the same time, Bucky ducked, the dash of turquoise light flying just past his shoulder and burning a hole through Steve's sofa.

“She’s the enemy, not me,” Bucky said, his voice angry as he stood, leveling her wand at him.

“I know you’re upset. I’d be too. But we can get answers out of her. We need her,” Steve said, calm despite Bucky's rage. 

Peggy had a few seconds left of breath in her lungs, and she used the panic, the adrenaline coursing through her to push out the blast of light she needed from her hand, blinding enough to release the snare rope. Air came flooding back into her lungs and she pushed herself up, gasping in a breath and pushing the vines off of her. 

Bucky stepped over her to Steve, whose wand remained steadily pointed at Bucky. “Please, Steve,” Bucky begged, his voice hitching as he came closer, suddenly sad instead of angry. “I told you about all of it in the letters. You read what she’s done. What she did to me. She gave me to them, let them torture me. Framed me.”

Peggy watched Steve swallow. “It’s not true,” she said, her voice hoarse. 

Bucky gently took the wand from Steve’s hand, Steve looking utterly lost, like the young American squib that signed up for a dangerous experiment all those years ago. “Buck,” he said softly, as Bucky dropped her wand to the ground. He knew Steve’s would have a better bond with him. A grin slowly grew on his lips.

“If you won’t let me kill her, I’ll make you do it yourself. It'd be easy. You won't feel a thing.”

Peggy moved slowly, reaching for her wand, but Bucky spun around. “ _Crucio!”_ he cried out, and this time Steve couldn’t stop him in time, the pain hitting her instantly. It was worse than she remembered, the all-encompassing intensity of it, her body being pulled apart piece by piece, bones being grated away. She could hear herself scream, hear a scuffle beside her, but all that mattered was her entire world, only defined by this feeling. 

The absence of that pain washed over her as if she'd been dropped in a cold pool when the curse broke. It took her a moment to collect herself, but she pulled herself forward on the ground and grabbed her wand, thanking whatever gods there were - that she’d never believed in, anyway - that neither of them had stepped on her wand. She pointed it at Bucky, too exhausted to think of anything but the jinx Steve had tried earlier.

This time, the light of the Impediment jinx hit him dead in the chest and it slowed him down enough for Steve to grab his wand back, but it wasn’t right, it wasn’t as much of an effect as it should have had on him. Unless he wasn’t himself at all. 

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Steve said, and Bucky froze, falling to the ground. For a moment it was the two of them panting, the room too quiet for the blood pulsing in her ears. Peggy pushed herself up from the floor and brushed off her robes. 

“ _Suirepmi_ ,” she said, pointing her wand at Bucky. The ribbons of light wrapped around Bucky, glowing red and clinging to his robes. She closed her eyes. Fuck. “He’s under the control of someone.”

Steve was frowning down at Bucky, wand extended toward him as if he wasn’t sure it was safe to move it. “Who?”

Zola. It had to have been. “Whoever it was must have let him into Hogwarts.” She summoned a glass of water for herself from his kitchen, pushing back the hair matted to her forehead, and then waving her wand for her hair to weave itself into a tight braid to get it out of her face. Zola was the next priority.

Steve looked over at her. “I really thought—he’d told me you’d changed from the torture. That you were... that you’d turned. Used him.”

“You’re an idiot,” Peggy said, taking a sip of water, starting to feel like herself again, though she knew she'd feel the after effects of the Cruciatus curse for a few days, at least. “This whole thing, though... I don’t understand. Why have him come here to kill us? He could have lured you to the meeting, put you under his control.” Her mind went to the various things stowed in the castle. What was there that could give Zola the kind of power he’d want to help restore the Death Eaters?

Unless it was less about gaining power and more about destroying the incriminating evidence she had on every suspicious happening in the castle for the last decade.

“Stay here with him. I’ll be back,” she ordered, and started out of the room at a run, ignoring Steve calling her name as she left. She was an idiot to have kept everything there in the castle, right under his nose.

She flew down the halls, nearly barreling through a few children in the process, and summoned her flat when she got to the office. 

Everything was in disarray, and she swore as she went to check the pipe where she’d been keeping everything, dread pitting in her stomach. The entire sink was in disarray, the wall broken apart as if with a muggle tool to reveal her hiding spot.

She was such an idiot. He’d had Bucky come to try and take her out while he’d destroyed her evidence. There were a few measures to protect the information, but if he was still in contact with other Death Eaters, like she’d suspected he was, he could certainly pool their intelligence and decode it. 

Ten years of work, lost. 

She gripped her wand and headed toward Zola’s office, unsurprised to find it empty. She had her patronus check for him, but there was no trace. She sent it next to McGonagall with the message that Zola was gone and Bucky was being detained in Steve’s quarters before returning.

Zola was competent enough - and could clearly cast a strong enough Imperius curse if he was able to maintain it for so long with Bucky - but he would need someone protecting him as he climbed the ranks again. That must be Bucky's next role, why he'd broken him out of Azkaban in the first place. 

She returned to Steve’s office, finding him sitting in the chair and facing the floor where Bucky’s prone form was still frozen, though his head was in his hands.

“Pay more attention to him,” she said, shutting the door and casting a spell to magically lock it, only allowing a few people of her choosing to pass through. “He’s more powerful now that he’s operating under the Imperius curse.”

“I know,” Steve said, blowing out a breath and sitting up. “I’ve dealt with one or two Imperio’d wizards before. What I don’t get is, why him? Why Bucky?”

“He was close to you,” Peggy said, coming in. “You were the face of the rebellion. Taking him was tactical.” She crossed her arms, looking down at him. “You should take it as a compliment. He wasn’t going to turn on you, or the cause, any other way.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a mirthless laugh. “What a relief that I had him put through this for his loyalty."

There was a sharp knock and McGonagall came in, her great robes billowing behind her. She looked every one of her many years, Peggy thought, as she took in the scene. 

“Oh my,” she said mildly, pulling out her wand. She turned about the room with it raised, her lips moving silently.

Steve stood up, always one to respect authority. “Headmistress,” he said with a slight nod. “We need to call the Ministry, have them send a team of Aurors.”

“Yes, well, I assume Ms. Carter’s already gone about alerting the Ministry.” She looked over to Peggy. “Isn’t that right?”

Peggy gave a sharp nod. “Shacklebolt’s having me transport him to holding.”

“Where will they take him?” Steve asked, crossing his arms. “Sending him back to Azkaban won’t help the fact that he’s not himself.”

“We’ll take him to a high security cell in the Ministry,” Peggy said, glancing at Bucky with a frown. “I was told they’d tested him for the Imperius curse when it became available.”

“It seems like there’s someone at the ministry that needs investigating,” Minerva said, looking to Peggy. “I’m no Auror, but it might be worth looking into who cleared Zola’s name after his decision to join our side.”

“So someone at the Ministry is a traitor, and we’re still bringing him there?” Steve demanded. “And shouldn’t we have a proper Auror take him in?”

Minerva looked to Peggy. “If you’ve got it under control, Ms. Carter. The wards will recast shortly, so you’d better take him sooner rather than later.”

"I'll get right on that. Thank you." 

The Headmistress took one more look around before she left, pulling the door shut tight behind her.

“If we need Aurors we can trust, we should get the Commandos,” Steve said, taking half a step between Peggy and Bucky.

“I _am_ a bloody Auror,” Peggy said, rolling her eyes, “and you’re lucky I don’t take you in for questioning.”

“You’re…” Steve’s face was twisted. “I thought... I’ve seen you grading papers, teaching classes.” 

“Unfortunately the cover comes with all of the tedious parts of the job.” She crouched by Bucky’s body, closing her eyes and trying to get a feel for whether or not the wards were down enough for her to apparate them out. She put her hand on Bucky’s arm. “And from the sound of it, you thought I was a Death Eater until a few minutes ago."

"You were acting different. I thought you were here turning students," Steve argued weakly. "I thought there was someone at the castle."

Peggy looked up at him. "We can compare notes later, but for now, if you don’t want to find yourself in Azkaban in the next few hours, you’ll be here when I return, understood?”

He nodded and took a seat again, seeming to take the threat seriously.

Bucky’s arm shifted beneath her palm. The world went black.

* * *

Peggy’s eyes felt crusty when she opened them, and saw an unfortunately familiar ceiling above her. The last time she’d woken up like this was when she was a sixth year who couldn’t turn down a dare, and wound up falling from her broomstick and breaking multiple bones.

The Hospital Wing was quiet at this time of year, as all Quidditch games were over, and all of the nerve-related maladies were relieved within a few minutes of drinking Madam Pomfrey’s specially brewed tea. That didn't make it any more pleasant to wake up there once more. 

She tried to sit up and Steve appeared at her side. “Hey, welcome back,” he said, and she swallowed, her throat dry.

“Did he get away?” Peggy asked. Steve grimaced. She groaned. “Bastard.”

“Can’t blame yourself,” Steve said, and gave her a forced, but still-cheeky smile, repeating the lecture she’d given him earlier. “You know, people operating under that curse are more powerful than their normal selves.”

“Is this where I say I’ve been around enough ‘Imperio’d’ people in my life, to use your ridiculous American slang?” Peggy flexed her fingers. “I should have stunned him again. It was a stupid mistake.”

Steve stood up straighter and looked toward the door. Peggy followed his gaze as Minister Shacklebolt came in, flanked by Head Auror Phillips and Assistant Head Auror Pierce. The Minister touched her shoulder as soon as he was close enough. “Are you alright, Carter?”

Peggy nodded. “Already healed, as far as I can tell,” she said, not wanting to ask what injuries were bad enough that they’d brought her here, keeping her out of the public eye instead of bringing her to St. Mungo’s. “I’ll go after him.”

“A minute alone?” Shacklebolt said, looking to Steve. 

“Of course, sorry,” Steve said, looking at Peggy before he headed for the door.

  
  


“You’ve done more than enough for us. Finish out the year and we’ll reassign you,” Pierce said, his voice kind, almost pitying. She hated it. “We all agree you deserve a break. Ten years in the field can be hard on anyone.”

She looked up at Shacklebolt, who shook his head. “You can’t leave the school. It’ll compromise your cover here. There’s still some investigating to be done within these walls, and people to protect. We’ll be in touch. I’m sorry.” He turned to leave, Pierce behind him. Phillips trailed behind, but glanced back at her, and dropped a piece of paper. It fluttered over and landed on the bed, and Peggy instinctually reached out for it, clutched it in her hand to conceal it before Steve or Madam Pomfrey came back in.

  
  


* * *

The end of term happened quickly. Peggy couldn’t even bother to muster the excitement when she found out that Gryffindor had won the House Cup, instead plastering on a smile for the announcement. She’d felt useless, milling about and doing nothing but grading NEWT’s and writing recommendations for her older students who wished to find work right after graduation. For the first time in years, she was simply a professor. She hated it.

It wasn’t until the last of the students had left, and she’d had a few drinks at the party that Minerva threw for all of that teachers, that she found herself knocking at Steve’s office door.

He opened it and gave her a small smile, though he looked about as tired as she felt. 

“You weren’t at the party,” she pointed out. 

“I didn’t feel much like celebrating.” Steve stepped back for her to come in, and she followed him into his flat. “Did you want to,” he started, tilting his head toward the bedroom. Even if that had been the reason she'd showed up, he didn't exactly sound enthusiastic about it.

She held out the parchment. “From Phillips.”

Steve stepped closer, took it and read over the note that she’d memorized. His forehead wrinkled. “‘Look in the forest?’ What does that mean?” 

“Zola’s headquarters must be in the forest where Bucky was taken. It means I’m going after him, and I think Phillips intended you to help; he still believes you’re the best soldier we have.” Peggy clasped her hands together in front of her. “Come with me?”

She could see him steeling himself for the mission, the danger and terror of it all. He’d only just left the field, and she was asking to pull him back in. “When do we leave?” he asked.

It was the first time since he’d come back that he sounded anything like himself. It took a great amount of effort for her not to smile. “Tonight?”

“I’ll be ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time I try and guess how many chapters this will be it changes on me, but I actually think it might be six chapters total now? I have about two more figured out, so it's really just a matter of how long they wind up being/if I wind up throwing in some flashbacks. 
> 
> thanks to all of you who keep reading, even though it takes me ages to update! and apologies for any typos, my eyes started to glaze over at one point during my final proofread and I decided to just hope for the best!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so since Steve was kind of an asshole to Peggy in the last chapter, I wanted to give some context to show what he's been through. it gets a little dark here, with some torture and just general Steve being on his own and dealing with some rough stuff, but there's nothing here that's essential to the plot so please feel free to skip this chapter! (and sorry for an update that isn't really moving the plot forward!)

**February, Eleven Years Ago**

The wind through the bare trees whistled. Steve watched as Peggy pulled her cloak tighter around her. There was something about the stillness of night that made the bite of the air sharper, every sound more pronounced and crisp. Unless that was another benefit of the experimental magic flowing through him.

He walked closer, the snow crunching beneath him as he cast a warming spell on her fingers that were likely near frozen.

She whirled around, wand raised, and he smiled softly at her in the moonlight. “I don’t think the Death Eaters are gonna keep your hands from getting frostbite before attacking,” he joked, stepping up to her. She kept her wand at her side, but leaned into him with a sigh. He didn’t need sunlight to tell she was exhausted.

“You should be asleep,” she said, as he wrapped a loose arm around her, rubbing her back. He heard what she’d really meant, some combination of an accusation, jealousy, and worry all wrapped up in one.

“Couldn’t relax.” Steve grimaced as the same image flashed through his head again: Lestrange appearing from behind Bucky, the  _ swoosh _ of her apparating again quickly, the splice of Bucky’s arm from his body, his shouts that echoed even after he’d been taken.

“It’s pointless to have a watch schedule if you’re going to ignore it.” Peggy pulled back her head to look up at him. She cupped his cheek. “You should ask Dugan for one of his sleeping draughts. It’ll put you out, but you’ll wake up as easily as any other night.” 

Steve took her hand, pulling it from his cheek and bringing it to his mouth for a soft kiss. “I’d rather be awake. Why don’t you get some rest? You could use it more than I could at this point.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy’s voice softened. “I know you’re going to ignore me when I tell you this, but you mustn’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not,” Steve said, before he froze. The back of his neck prickled. If there wasn’t magic nearby, there was about to be.

Peggy reached for her wand at the same time as him, though he knew that she was reading his reaction rather than sensing whatever was about to happen. 

“Wake the others,” he hissed, and Peggy reached in her pocket for the enchanted button she kept, which would send a small zap to each member of the team in their tents. 

The button had fallen off her coat, and it had put Peggy in such a bad mood that she couldn’t focus enough to reattach it properly. He’d offered to sew it back on by hand, something he’d gotten good at before getting magic, but she’d come up with a better use for it. She gave him a nod when it was done, and they both stepped back. 

She gave him one last kiss before turning and creeping off into the woods. Steve did the same in the opposite direction, but he twisted when he heard Peggy shout, and as soon as he did, there was an arm wrapped around his neck, the pull in his gut of a forced apparation. 

His first thought when they landed in an ornate bedroom was that all of his limbs were in place. He spun and shot a curse at the Death Eater who’d grabbed him. The Carrow woman ducked out of the way, and he heard Peggy scream in the distance, and he wondered how far down the hall she was. The distraction was enough time for another Death Eater to materialize.

Before he’d registered hearing Carrow shout  _ Crucio _ , he was falling to his knees in pain that overwhelmed every sense he had. 

Steve remembered vividly what it was like when he was a squib cut off from the community and still dealing with muggle maladies, the few times in his life when he had migraines with an all-encompassing pain that was so severe he was reduced to muttering to himself, rocking back and forth, counting the seconds that passed as a reminder that he’d survived them and that the pain surely wouldn’t last more than an hour, a handful more seconds for him to live through.

This was unimaginably worse than that. Any thought that might have gone to reassuring himself, or come up with some sort of method to cope, was overwhelmed by blinding agony.

His vision went white. His throat felt hoarse, and he didn’t have the clarity of mind to figure out if it was from shouting or the curse itself. 

When the pain disappeared he fell to the floor, panting, sweaty, not sure how long it had been. He tried to lift his wand before noticing Carrow had it in her hand. She laughed when she caught him looking and snapped it in half. 

“Pathetic squib,” she muttered, and pointed her own wand at him once more. “ _ Crucio _ .”

* * *

Some time later, during one of the brief respites from the haze of pain - Steve would have guessed it had been months, though he had no way to be sure - he heard shouting downstairs. He mustered up a smile. “They’re coming,” he rasped. 

His guard, Yaxley, kicked him as he walked past toward the door, and returned only a moment later. Steve had started to push himself up, and was rewarded with an itching hex for his attempt at moving, his hands bound behind him.

“Carter took care of it,” Yaxley said with a snicker. “She’ll tell them you’re dead so they’ll leave you here for us.”

“No,” Steve said, struggling to not squirm on the floor. “She’ll be back.”

“She’ll be welcomed back with open arms,” the Death Eater agreed. 

“ _ No _ ,” Steve said, with more vehemence. 

“Stupid muggle fool,” Yaxley spit. “You think any Carter pureblood would help your cause? She made it so easy for us to find you, after giving up your friend.”

He pulled at his restraints, another curse hitting him as he struggled.

* * *

There were shouts of curses, pops of apparation, voices. Steve was still, breathing against the wall and summoning some magic to his hands. It had been longer than usual that they’d let him go between curses, and he was weak, but the magic felt strong in his veins and he put everything he had into it, knowing that this might be his only chance. 

He’d tried to apparate a few times before, but there was some sort of protection on the spell, allowing only Death Eaters to come in.

The bonds on his body broke and he gave himself one sigh of relief before he pushed himself up. He didn’t have a wand, but he knew wizards, knew that using brute force would surprise them enough to give him a fighting chance. He grabbed a candlestick holder from the dresser on the side of the room and caught a look at himself in a mirror that hung there. Pale and sallow skin, eyes sunk back in his head, and with a beard that looked like it had been a few weeks that he’d been held. 

He swallowed, turned away.  _ Get out, _ he told himself.  _ Worry about the rest later. _

Steve crept down the hallway, the heavy brass at the ready in his hand, but he didn’t bump into anyone. The voices were fading downstairs, and he stayed still, left with silence. 

He moved down the stairs, thinking this must be some sort of trick, another torture they’d thought up when they decided the Cruciatus curse wasn’t enough. They’d already added lies about Peggy on top of it.

The bottom floor of the Manor was grand, with marble floors and high ceilings, and Death Eaters littering the floor. 

He picked up a fallen wand, and cast a cleaning spell on himself, changing his clothes as well. It was likely thanks to his magic that he wasn’t in worse shape than he was, and prayed that he really had heard Peggy escaping when she did, as her magic wasn’t enhanced like his.

Unless she was the traitor they’d told him. 

Steve looked around the bodies, needing to find Yaxley’s, to extract the memories of Peggy, but Yaxley wasn’t there. Taken alive, perhaps, to testify and be sent to Azkaban? Or escaped. 

He took the next few minutes to scavenge what he could from the home, any magical supplies, put a bag together for himself. He didn’t know that he had the energy to apparate, especially with a wand that wasn’t quite bonded with him, and he hadn’t seen a fireplace connected to the floo network anywhere. It might take him some time to get back to civilization.

The sunlight hurt his eyes when he finally left the Manor. He picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet that was sitting on the front steps, every headline about the end of the war, the raids on Death Eater strongholds, the heroism of witches and wizards that had saved them all, the sacrifice of others.

He opened the second page, and realized with a sinking feeling that the rest of the paper was split between those missing, those assumed dead, and those confirmed dead. 

His name was listed in the third category. Steve’s breath caught. They’d only think that if Peggy had confirmed it.

But he still couldn’t get himself to believe it fully. Not yet.

* * *

It was easy to stay in the shadows, to live as a muggle when the job called for it. He’d had enough experience before he’d gotten his magic. Steve had even gone weeks without needing to use a wand, channeling most magic subtly through his hands while surrounded by muggles. He’d first left the country, putting some distance between himself and the ordeal he’d been through, find some solace in going home.

He woke panting in a hostel in the middle of the US one night, thinking he was back in the manor, back on the grimy floor, stilled only by a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man, what’s your name?”

“Steve,” he gasped, not cognizant enough to think better of giving his real name.

The man smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Sam, from the bottom bunk. You’re gonna be okay, okay?”

Sam helped him calm down, and they wound up chatting about the war for a while—different wars, but there was enough in common that, blurring a few details, they could have a full conversation about. It was the first time in months that Steve had had what seemed like a friend.

Sam was traveling after his two tours in the US Army, he’d said, and was convinced Steve had been special ops. Steve didn’t correct him, and decided to travel with him, deciding he deserved a break from everything. 

Until, at a bar in Virginia, he recognized a Death Eater. He went to the bathroom, locked himself in a stall and made himself look unrecognizable, before coming back out and picking a fight until the Death Eater agreed to go outside.

The wizard, thinking Steve was a drunk muggle, wasn’t expecting him to whip out his wand in the alley and knock him out. He made sure the spell would last, and sent word to the MACUSA, before apparating into the bathroom stall, turning back into himself, and coming out with an excuse to Sam about why they should leave.

It became a pattern, Steve going in search of Death Eaters while Sam slept, or finding excuses to go out on his own. He got information out of the ones he could, and sent the ones that wouldn’t give him anything straight to the MACUSA or Ministry, depending on where they were.

The time passed slowly, some days. Too fast, others. Every time he thought about going to the Ministry himself, revealing he was still alive, it seemed cowardly. He had a better chance of rooting out the last of Voldemort’s followers from the shadows than he did as an Auror. Peggy didn’t seem to be working at the Ministry, so he assumed she was caught or decided to hide out in peace. Part of him was glad for that. The other part of him was too busy analyzing every interaction they’d had, every moment that she might have given herself away and he was too distracted to notice.

Years after he’d left Sam behind, and only communicated with him through muggle technology every now and then, he’d successfully infiltrated a club in Germany where sympathizers were known to hang out. He’d incapacitated three, and was starting to think he was in over his head on this fight, when a few Aurors apparated in, joining the fight. 

Steve figured that was as good a time as any to duck out but was grabbed, stopped by an Auror who apparated them away.

They appeared in a kitchen, and Steve spun around, ready to throw a few defensive spells and get out of there, when he realized the Auror in question was Gabe Jones.

They caught up, had some drinks. Gabe told him how everyone else was doing. “Peggy’s a professor now,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh.

“Really? I thought she had higher aspirations than that,” Steve said, frowning at the news. More recently, he’d been searching for proof that what he’d learned had been wrong, and that didn’t sit with him. If Peggy really was a Death Eater, why Hogwarts? What would be the point? Infiltrating the Ministry would make more sense.

“She got married pretty quick after the war,” Gabe said slowly. “Fred. He’s a good guy. We all think he wanted her to slow down a little.” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “She was so broken up about you.”

“She thought I was dead,” Steve said, and Gabe sighed. 

“She didn’t talk much about what happened when you two were taken, but it sounded like they tried to get what information they could out of her. She barely got herself out, and we tried to get back to you, but there were these wards, something blocking us from getting in.” Gabe took in a breath, let out a huff. “A few days later, one of our Ministry liaisons called. Pierce. Said you’d been dropped on their doorstep, basically. Peggy ID’d the body and everything. It must have been some trick to get us to leave you with them, but if we had known—”

But Peggy had been the one to ID him. She could have lied. Could have been in on it. “You didn’t know. You were manipulated,” he said, and finished the rest of his drink.

“Look at you, though! You’ve been doing our work for us. You’re everyone’s favorite Auror and you’re not even getting paid,” Gabe said with a laugh. “Really, though, Steve. You can come back.”

Steve chuckled, tapped his finger against the rim of his glass to refill it. He’d switched wands dozens of times over the years, and the one he had now finally felt like the right fit for him again, though he found himself using his hands more often than not. “If I come back, it’ll get out that I’m alive. It’s better like this, easier to take them out this way.”

“I’m guessing you’re gonna ask me to not tell anyone?” Gabe asked, looking at Steve with a frown. “The team should know. Peggy deserves to know.”

Steve couldn’t quite meet Gabe’s eye, knowing he’d give himself away. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Gabe gave him a tight hug. “When can I expect you to make the big announcement?”

“Give me a week to tie up some loose ends?”

“A week. I look forward to hearing you’re alive.”

Steve cast the Obliviate spell on him and apparated back to the small apartment he was keeping on the outskirts of London under a fake name. 

The time passed slowly again. He gave up the apartment, hadn’t heard from Sam in over a year. All he kept on him was a backpack and a duffel, both magically extended to fit everything he could, and a tent that was magically extended, as well. He wound up spending most of his time camping, finding it easier to be away from people. 

Another few years of hunting down Death Eaters went by, Steve finding every excuse to leave England, though he kept coming back. He stopped by Diagon Alley on a whim on day, feeling too cut off from society again but disguised to the point of being unrecognizable, and picked up a Daily Prophet. The front cover detailed the seventh anniversary of the trial of James Buchanan Barnes.

He hadn’t even known Bucky was alive, let alone serving in Azkaban. He read the article. He reread it when his eyes started to blur.

He reread the section about Peggy multiple times.

_ Pictured is Barnes’ colleague from the Resistance, Carter. She attended the trial before heading back to Hogwarts for an early DADA class. _

He saw her face, the pinch of her lips, the shift of her legs. There was barely any emotion there. 

Still, seeing her photo hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Steve kept the article tucked in a pocket on the inside of his backpack. He read it again. Tried to understand what had happened with Bucky. Was he under someone’s control? It had to have been someone at the trial, or at least someone powerful to do it from a long distance.

He was more brutal the next few months, and looking back he’d regret it, regret the things he did to get information. But every one he’d cornered, forced information out of, knew there was someone at Hogwarts looking for the next generation of children to recruit.

And who better than the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?

It’d been almost ten years that he’d been pretending he was still dead, but he needed to know. Needed to get close to her. He showed up at the Ministry the next day.

_ The Man Who Lived!  _

_ Resistance fighter Steve Rogers, assumed dead for the last ten years has been found alive. He’d continued his noble work out of the spotlight, letting the world go on without him while putting a stop to whatever remained of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s following. Many of you will remember the first rumor that the Magical Congress of the USA was planning an experiment involving a squib to bring back his magic stronger than ever. This “Captain MACUSA,” as he’s become known, has continued saving lives even after the war… _

He folded the prophet, ignoring the looks of Wizards and Witches, and went to the local Owlery. He hadn’t had a familiar of his own since the war had started. He gave a treat to a snow white owl, and let her take the letter in her talon. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but he thought Peggy deserved to hear it from him, even if she was a Death Eater.

Her response, when it came, was curt. She didn’t indicate she wanted to meet him, didn’t say much other than that she was glad he was alive, and a few updates about her life

He tried writing back, but couldn’t figure out what to say.

He wrote a letter instead to the Minister’s assistants, Phillips and Pierce, two men he’d worked with at MACUSA before they’d been hired by the Ministry for post war clean-up. They were two of the most powerful wizards he knew, and both owed him more than a few favors.

By the end of the week, Steve Rogers was the new Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He’d only visited once during the war, and was overcome with the vastness of the castle again. Steve settled himself in the apartment attached to his office. He’d been sorted, which had been more exciting than he expected, and although he wasn’t a student and didn’t have his colors reflected in his robes, he was more proud than he’d expected to be a Slytherin.

Steve hadn’t warned her, hadn’t wanted to give her the time to hide whatever she was doing. He went to her office and knocked. Waited. 

She answered, and looked as beautiful as he remembered. “Peggy,” he said, and she looked him over, clearly taking in his professorial robes. The initial flash of whatever he’d seen in her eyes - excitement? Nerves? - had disappeared and been replaced with something cold.

“Steve,” she said. 

He’d figure out the truth, he decided. Whatever it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will have some Peggy/Steve, and will be less depressing than this one!


End file.
